More than Meets the Eye
by sawtooth117
Summary: A story unlike any other, one of romance, personal conflict, and the search for acceptance in an unforgiving world. Isa'kor is a young warrior to be, with a secret few know. Tutored by a unusual Broken Draenei, she seeks to learn the path of the Primals, warriors so completely in tune with their animal side, they are truly wild themselves. Short story
1. Prologue

**Authors Note: This is a story months in the making. I'm a new writer, so any constructive reviews are encouraged and welcomed. I don't update often, but i'll try to update every weekend. Cheers!**

Prologue

The morning air was thick with mist from the night's rain, the grass slick with dew, and the birds sang their little hearts out. The trees swayed slightly in the light breeze, and the whole of the isle seemed to be rising from slumber. Nightstalkers stretched themselves out, yawning, their jaws of knife like teeth exposed to the light of dawn, and began their instinctual search for food. Tame Elekks ventured to their troughs for their breakfast, trumpeting and grunting amongst themselves. Striders foraged deep in the forest, and deer, along with stags pale as moonlight, grazed lazily, always alert to the slightest danger. Ravagers, seemingly always angered, growled and guarded their staked out territories. Murlocs, small, brutal, fish-like people, began their patrol of the ocean shores. Vile naga, inhabiting their ancestral ruins, slithered along, carrying out their mysterious goals. The world was as it should be, calm, peaceful, a new day ready to be seized in all its glory.

Isa'kor stepped out of her hut, taking in her surroundings with joy. All this was visible from her mountain perch, as she lived on the peak of one of the smaller mountains on the west side of the mountain range, high above Stillpine Hold. The furbolg were peaceful enough, kind to her, and left her to her own devices.

She breathed in through her nose, the air sweet and cold, the light breeze tickling her bare skin, being clad in only her simple undergarments, leaving little to the imagination. She was human, athletically shaped, and feral in appearance, like a wild animal. Her skin was pale like starlight, hair brown like the trees, long, curly, tangled like a jungle, un-brushed and untamed since the previous day. Her ears were pointed, hinting at a possible high elven heritage, eyes hazel and always changing, though today they were a storm grey-blue. She was tall, six foot even, tall for a human, let alone a female human. (Most humans are in the 5 foot spectrum of height. 5'0"-5'11") Tattoos covered her body, ancient, tribal, feral-looking tattoos, geometric, yet asymmetric, from a bear paw on her left arm, to a raven on her neck. The largest was a tree on her back, from the base of her neck to her tailbone, spanning shoulder to shoulder, the only tattoo not tribal. Solid black, and curly ended branches, it represented the tree of life, connecting all things in the world. Her very essence radiated her animal nature, primeval, maybe even dark, and adaptable, as if born to survive in the savage and ever-changing world of Azeroth.

She was a Warrior of the Fury path, rage coming to her as a second nature, wearing heavy plate armor, and wielding two-handed weapons as if they were but twigs, one in each hand. Her armor was handcrafted by herself, being a blacksmith, and had many interlocking plates, to allow fluid movement while fighting. It was a dark green set with bronze edging, and covered every possible part on her body. It was light for plate armor as well, having been made of steel and folded, like a Japanese katana. It was forged in such a way that the wearer could swim in it with little effort. Her chosen weapons were twin Swords, forged of Elementium, a gift from her current mentor, he himself finding them in ancient ruins in Northrend. They were single edged blades, traditionally wielded with two hands, and looked as savage as their master. Isa'kor also had a tomahawk she made herself, and several other weapons in her collection, though she almost always preferred her swords, which she named Soulfire and Heartstorm.

She started her morning as she did every morning: First, with a series of increasingly difficult stretches akin to our yoga, then with a brief but intense workout to keep her body in shape, and ending with her run down to the ocean to the West and a brief swim. She loved swimming. It woke her up more than anything else, the cold water a comfort to her. But more than anything, it helped her forget her worries and relax.

Having spent the early morning hours in the ocean, she returned to her humble abode, and prepared for her lessons with Turran Cloudwatcher, her shaman mentor and close friend. He was a Broken Draenei, one of the first shaman of his kind, taught by Nobundo himself. She brushed her still damp hair, and fixed it into a French-style braid, simple but elegant. She began her trek to Turran's home, and hummed a simple tune as she went, dressed in simple brown robes. Today would be a good day, indeed.

A'yora was finally returning to her adopted home. After years of adventuring, participating in every major conflict from the Siege of Outland, to the War against the Lich King, and most recently, the conflict in the Elemental Planes, and the Expedition to Pandaria, she was finally home. She was always the explorer, but now she longed for a warm bed, a good home, and maybe someone to share it with. She was weary of all the fighting, all the death, and, after over 25,000 years, she had come home ready to settle down and maybe have a family of her own. She felt she deserved at least that much, after the long, lonely years of fighting she had done.

She stepped off ship from

Rut'theran Village, a striking figure in full plate armor, and walked down the gangplank, stepping foot on Azuremyst Isle for the first time since crashing on this strange world. She had left almost immediately after, seeking glory and riches while helping the Alliance, as well as the weak and defenseless. She successfully acquired the wealth she sought, and her bank account sat at a comfortable 1,000,000 Gold, making her as rich, if not richer, than much of the Alliance nobility. But wealth could never buy the happiness she wanted, the love she sought. She had faced many frightful and nightmarish foes, from demons to the Old Gods themselves, but only feared being alone, to never be graced with a mate.

She was a stoic, yet graceful Draenei. Thousands of years training and fighting had honed her body into a weapon, her motions fluid, and her reactions faster than believed possible. Her face was like smooth stone, like a statue worn smooth by the passage of millennia. Her skin was as blue as the sky on a cloudless day, and looked as smooth as silk. Her hair was jet black, long and loose across her shoulders, stick straight, with only the bangs tied back, unnoticeable behind her ears. Her horns were short, swept back, following the contour of her skull, and blue like her skin. She was gargantuan, a giant amongst the other races, let alone her own people, standing at 8 feet and 5 inches tall, a wall of muscle clad in armor.

Her armor was a dark blue, almost black, and it seemed to glow with an icy chill. The plate itself seemed to swirl like water, almost alive in looks, but still in reality. It covered every inch of her, making her the image of death, but elegant all the same. The breastplate hugged her curves, the abdomen segmented for flexibility. Her arms were completely encased, even the elbow. The shoulder pads were segmented in a style reminiscent of the samurai, and from her belt hung a kilt of plates, split down the middle so she could walk. The legs were also encased, and though her plates weren't as extravagant as some warriors, so might even say feminine, she had the look of a tank; one who could take punishment and dish it out tenfold. The last piece of her armor hung from her backpack, a helmet of unique design. It had a slit for the eyes stretching from ear to ear, providing a full 180 degree view, almost as good overall as going without a helmet. Made from the same dark plate as her armor, it was smooth, with no outcroppings or ridges. It was vaguely skull shaped, and the only flourish was a carved rune of shielding on the back, on the samurai-like neck guard that extended down from the helmet.

She had two weapons; a two-handed black war hammer, the head reminiscent of an anvil, and a bastard sword, single edged, straight backed, and the blade's edge shaped like an "S". She also had a foldable shield, perfectly round when extended, its appearance like that of a foldable fan, with leaves of metal instead of paper. It had ancient runes carved into the surface, protective wards from an ancient era. She wore it in its stored position on her right arm, lock into place on the bottom of her gauntlet. It was a gift from a companion in the War against the Lich King, an inventive and quirky little gnome of the Argent Crusade.

Clad in her hard won armor, she strolled leisurely towards the city of Exodar, repaired to its former glory as a trans-dimensional ship, leading her armored bear along by its reins. Her bear was a companion picked up from Dalaran, and a close friend ever since. She named the bear Stoneheart, and since Northrend they've fought side by side, scarely apart from each other for even a moment.

The Exodar floated above its crater almost lazily. It had been repaired shortly after the Cataclysm, and it had "anchored", so to speak, over the location it had crashed, standing as the center of Draenei society in all its glory. Entrance was now gained through portals located where the back entrance was once located, and next to the inn that stood outside of where the main entrance was once located, respectively. Though capable of inter-dimensional travel, the Draenei elected to remain on Azeroth and honor their pact with the Alliance, offering aid in whatever aid they could.

A'yora lead Stoneheart to the inn, to fill her belly with a warm meal and ale, check her mail, and listen to happenings of the world from other travelers. Stoneheart napped lazily outside, undisturbed by all in the waning hours of the day. Belly filled, eyes heavy, she bought a room for the night, and before turning in, asked after her uncle, Turran Cloudwatcher. He was a reclusive shaman, living in the wilds north of Stillpine Hold. She was amazed to learn that he not only had a student, but small village going. Rumors of a wild human, trolls, even tauren were whispered amongst the rest of the Draenei. Too tired to worry, she retreated to her room, dropped her bags in the corner, stripped naked, and collapsed on her bed.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

A'yora let Stoneheart walked the path without guidance. They both knew it well, etched in their minds, as if carved into stone. It was the road leading north to Bloodmyst, and her destination lie west of were the path forked, and was well known to many, but avoided by most. It lie near the shore, the northern isle a stone throw from the "village". She arrived as the sun broke the horizon, village as still as a crypt.

The buildings were built in a style resembling Mongolian yurts, but made of earth, simple in construction, but sturdy and peaceful in their looks. The all but one were the same in size, equal to a small human house. There were seven in all, arranged in a crescent moon shape, with the largest building looked to be a communal building, were the inhabitants shared food, stories, and cold nights. A totem pole stood in the center of the camp, with a fire at the base. The fire was feed by four logs into a center fire pit, each log matching a point on a compass, and such a fire burned for days without much maintenance. A troll tended the fire, wearing nothing but a loincloth, tribal tattoos angry in the low light, and blood red. He had hair of equal color, up in a mohawk, a scar across his blind left eye, and tusks at least a foot long, sticking straight out. He looked up, squinting at her, and sniffed the air. He turned to one of the huts, calling out, "Turran! Der be a stranga out here, mon. She don't look familya, but she smell like ya, mon!"

There was grumbling from the hut and the cloth that covered the door frame was swept aside. A tall, imposing Broken Draenei stepped, as bare covered as the troll, with a bed sheet in place of the loincloth.

"A'yora, is that you?" He shouted, covering his eyes and looking out at her.

"It is, uncle!" She lept down off of Stoneheart, barreling down the hill and into his arms, lifting him off his feet and knocking the wind out of him with a, "oomph!"

He beamed up at his giant niece, and managed to squeak out, "I need to breathe, little one!"

She let him down, and he continued. "You're early, my dear. We weren't expecting you till tomorrow. Go, make yourself at home in the main hall. I need to rouse the others, and introduce you to my, ummm…"

He pause a moment, searching for a proper word, "Well, family, I guess."

He blushed as he spoke, obviously nervous about how she'd react. "Anyway, let me get dressed, dear."

He quickly moved back into the hut, shutting the steel door, a 'click', audible yet muffled as it was lock. The door cloth settled over the door, and she turned to see the troll staring into her soul, a few feet closer than before.

"Who you be? I neva seen ya round 'ere, mon. How ya be knowing Turran?"

She looked him over, curious as to where her uncle found this troll, and answered, "I'm Ayora Shieldfist. Turran is my uncle, and my only living relative. He's all I have left."

The troll gave a toothy grin, visibly calming down. "I be Vil'ta Shadoweyes. I know Turran through me best friend Isa'kor. She be studying wit 'em. Welcome to de family, mon!"

He suddenly rushed close, rearing to his full height and embracing her. Even standing tall, he only came to her chest. She looked down, confused but smiling, and gingerly hugged back. "Family?" she asked.

He stepped back, gesturing to her to follow, replying "Ya mon! We be our own little clan 'ere."

"Who is all here?" She inquired.

"We got Isa'kor, de little human, though she don't use it much, Turran, me, Dandur Thunderheart, a tauren, and sometimes we get vistors, like Thor and Danielle."

"Quiet the clan. Why are there six huts though?"

"One be mine, one be Isa'kor's, one Turran and Dandur share, one be for guests, and da other two be for our tings, like fishin poles an armor an such."

They entered the hall, and Vil'ta pointed to the back right corner, "Put your tings dere mon. We set up your hut later, mon."

"When will I meet the others?"

"When dey wake up for breakfast, mon." He grinned, and continued, "I be making hyena sausages and crocilisk eggs. It be me famous recipe!"

She didn't know if that was a good thing or not, and sat, hoping breakfast wouldn't bite her back.

Isa'kor awoke suddenly, grabbing for her knife, before realizing it was only a dream. She looked around, slowly having her wits return, and took a deep breath through her nose. She smelled breakfast, and her stomach rumbled audibly. Though Spartan compared to her mountain home, her gigantic bed, which took up much of the space, piled high with blankets, was as comfortable as a cloud.

Instead of her usual exercise routine, she tossed on a simple robe, and headed for the main hall. She brushed aside the cloth door, and noticed what appeared to be a metal mountain. Vil'ta was chatting up this giant, and serving her his food of questionable origin. She appeared to be a draenei, though larger than any she had ever met.

Their eyes met, and her heart started fluttering, and she must have visibly blushed, because the draenei winked at her. She didn't know why, but she had seemed to be attracted to the newcomer. Feeling embarrassed, she turned to leave, and ran straight into Dandur, Turran's love. Dandur was an average Tauren, with a woody-brown coloring to him, and a smile as bright as the dawn. Turran came up beside him, and asked, "Why the rush, little one? Come meet my niece."

She hide behind Turran as they made for the table, and the draenei noticed that she was shy. "Who's your timid friend, uncle?"

Turran moved Isa'kor in front of him, and introduced her. "This is Isa'kor Battleheart, a human warrior of 18 years, seeking to learn of shamanism and to connect to her animal side, in hopes of becoming a primal."

"Truly?" A'yora looked down at her with a new-found awe, "You are brave to walk such a path, dear. I'm A'yora Shieldfist, a warrior myself, of over 25,000 years."

Isa'kor twiddled with her hands, nervous as a fawn, and managed to squeak out, "A pleasure to meet you."

"You're so cute when you're shy," A'yora said as she winked down at her.

"She's not too confident around newcomers, but she'll warm up to you." Dandur assured her.

A'yora looked down at Isa'kor, and said, "I'd like to see how well you handle yourself, Isa'kor. Meet me at noon by the river, and we'll have a friendly sparing match."

Isa'kor, a little more bravely, said, "Sure."

She then ran back to her hut, determined to prove to this beautiful giant that she was as good as any warrior, if not better. Time couldn't pass fast enough, she thought, as her heart pounded out a war dance. She set to her donning her armor, and waited.

**A/N- Let me know if this feels too rushed. I wrote this awhile ago and only just now am getting around to uploading it. **


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A'yora paced, waiting for Isa'kor. It was not yet noon, but she was impatient, and wanted to hit something. She drew her bastard sword, Frostbite, and went through some exercises.

She was building up a slight sweat when Isa'kor arrived. She was clad in segmented armor, forest-green and edged in a bronze color, wielding two blades that a normal person would carry with two hands. They were odd, simple in design, but had an ominous aura about them. She wore no helmet, and her hair was in twin tail braids.

A'yora couldn't help but stare. Isa'kor was a stunning beauty in armor, a primal yet enthralling essence to her. She mentally shook herself, steeling herself for a fight.

"I'm not much on niceties, Isa'kor. Let me know when you're ready to begin."

Isa'kor looked at her with a look that would strike fear into lesser men.

"Let's do this." She said with steel in her voice.

A'yora charged, bastard sword raised over her head, yelling a wordless battle cry. Isa'kor stood her ground and waited, Elementium blades held at her side. She took a deep breath, when A'yora was about to strike, she brought up her right sword, stopping Frostbite dead in its tracks, and slashed at her mid-section, all in the blink of an eye. A'yora was visibly shocked, dodging the slash by millimeters.

Isa'kor pressed the attack, her blades all but a blur, A'yora dodging and blocking all she could. Isa'kor was only marginally surprised when A'yora unslung her shield, giving her more protection, at cost of speed. The storm of blades was finally halted, Isa'kor panting, but no the worse for wear.

A'yora pressed back, using her shield like a ram, and then slashing. Isa'kor could only retreat, blocking when she could, but she was losing ground. She braced for another charge from A'yora, digging her heels into the ground. She took the shield in the face, A'yora sweeping it in a club-like motion. It connected with her jaw, making an audible crack. Suddenly, something in her shifted. Her eye twitched once, and the world slowed down. Her only thought was _kill her_, while a small part of her said _no._ Her peripheral went black, and her conscience fought futilely for control. A animalistic screech loosed from her lips, equal to that of the great Hellscream, and the bloodrage was upon her.

She threw her left sword at A'yora like a javelin, A'yora raising her shield to catch it. What she didn't realize is that the defensive move left her blind to Isa'kor's movement. Isa'kor charged, banshee-like scream once again on her lips, and before A'yora could react, she wrenched the shield away, tossing it aside like tissue paper. Isa'kor hammered away at A'yora. It took all of her inner strength _not_ to fatally hit her secret crush, but she still pushed A'yora back.

A'yora attempted a sweeping side strike, but Isa'kor caught the blade in her plate covered hand, twisting it from A'yora's grip. A'yora was on the ropes, and Isa'kor knew it. Isa'kor sheathed caught A'yora unaware with a sudden uppercut, her fist breaking skin and drawing blood. The blue blood stained Isa'kor's fist, but she hardly noticed. Again, the voice in her said _kill her_, and she tackled A'yora, pinning her to the ground. Isa'kor raised her blade, preparing for a final kill-strike, and hesitated. Her conscience roared forward with a loud _NO!_ It took all her will power to fight the inner animal.

A'yora lie pinned, Isa'kor sitting on her stomach, and felt for the first time in years: _terror._ She thought this was the end, that this beautiful spitfire would kill her. She looked at Isa'kor, but saw nothing but a primal rage in her adorable eyes, an animalistic hunger for death. She closed her eyes, preparing for death.

A'yora heard the plate shift, and braced. But the blade didn't embed into her throat; she heard a _thunk_ as it speared into the ground. And then something wonderful, but unexpected; A'yora opened her eyes to a kiss, full on the lips. Isa'kor put all her passion into the kiss, it being long and fiery and loving. A'yora melted, and time stopped. Isa'kor's tongue played on A'yora's teeth, A'yora responded in turn, biting Isa'kor's lips.

A'yora and Isa'kor both opened their eyes as Isa'kor pulled away. Isa'kor blushed, then bolted. Tears were running down her face, but of joy and fear, not sadness. A'yora could only lay there, dazed, and in love. She knew at that moment, that she _had_ to have the little spitfire. She found what she never expected on this island: her soulmate.


	4. Chapter 3

**Sorry about the delay. Been busy the last few days, and hadn't found the time for my story. Upon the review of an anonymous guest, I have realized that the love thing has been slightly quick. I'm shifting the story slightly to reflect a more steady tempo, so no worries. And keep up the reviews! Anything helps! I mean, look at Anonymous! He/She was only one person, but He/She made a valid point! Don't feel too shy, anyone can help set the course for this story!**

Chapter 3

A'yora walker into her uncle's hut, sitting down next to him by the table, exhausted and still bleeding. Silence dominated the hut, until finally A'yora managed to mutter, "What's her story, uncle?"

Turran sat quietly for a moment, thinking it over. "I swore to her I wouldn't speak a word of it. You deserve to know, however, but what I utter her shall never be repeated, by _either_ of us. Do you understand me?"

"Of course, uncle!"

"Do you know where she hails from?"

"I would venture a guess at Stormwind."

"Elwynn Forest, more precisely. But she hails from an old lineage coming from the Hinterlands, the same land as the Wildhammer clan. They were the remnants of what humanity used to be, a hunter-gatherer nomadic tribe, culturally more like the trolls than modern men. They were hunted by the kingdoms of men, considered backwards barbarians.

Her family relocated to Elwynn Forest in the wake of a 'purge', a genocide of her people at the hands of the kingdom of Stromgarde, in a time when the Church of Light worshipped a singular God instead of the Light. In those days, those who didn't worship God where considered heathens, worthy only of death."

"Why the history lesson, uncle?"

"It is important to understand _why_ she chose her path. But we're getting ahead of ourselves. Its connection to her will be more obvious in a moment. But, back to the story:

She grew up in a tight-knit family, but due to their heritage, that had strict views as to what a person should be like. Things like my relationship with Dandur were considered taboo, and any differences where treated harshly.

Now, this is her secret, and you must swear on your honor as warrior, on you very life, to tell not a _single_ soul, what I'm about to say."

A'yora looked inquisitively at her uncle. Never had Turran seemed so doubtful of her ability to honor a promise. "Uncle, I swear upon the graves of those we lost on Draenor to never repeat this secret."

Satisfied with her response, Turran took a deep breath, closing his eyes for several heartbeats, before finally uttering, "She was not born a female."

A'yora was confused. "What?"

"She was born male. Her name then was Arturius Wulfanheim."

"How is that possible, uncle?"

"Best to tell her whole story, dearheart." Turran paused a moment, as if he lost his place in his story, then continued,

" Since she was small, she loved dressing in her mother's clothing. Normally, such things are viewed as childish playfulness. But it didn't stop at that young age. She wore her hair long and braided like other girls, and would always go out in skirts instead of trousers. She didn't realize that there was a difference in genders, she just believed it was a choice. So she chose what to her felt _right._

Her parents, however, viewed it as an embarrassment. So they sent her to Northsire Abbey, in hopes that the clerics could better teach her what was 'normal'.

She had learned by then to hide it, however. The other children teased her ceaselessly, some going as far as throwing stones at her. So she would dress how other boys would dress, and bottle-up who she really was, so no one would hurt her again.

She studied there until her youth slipped away like water in a stream. She never talked much, never really had friends, and always avoided other people. Her sadness was like a poison of the mind, and more often than not she wandered who would miss her is she died.

Fate, however, would smile upon her. A wandering shaman, born of the Wildhammers, came to the abbey. Whether curiosity or compulsion from the spirits, he never did say, but he wandered in one day shortly before dinner. The clerics welcomed all, and he held the seat of honor that eve. But what drew his eye was not the apple pies, or the warm cider, but a wayward soul sitting by herself. Taking upon himself to cheer this person up, he left his honored seat, and sat by her.

From that day on, Thor Spikefist personally tutored the child. From him, Isa'kor learned blacksmithing, learned about the world and all its wonder, and learned of the spirits. For whatever reason, she had an affinity for shamanism that no human before had ever displayed. Moreover, though, she learned to remember who she really was."

Turran sighed, collecting his thoughts, then moved on with the story,

"She learned about the Draenei shortly after we had arrived. You had gone through the Dark Portal at the time, and I was one of few of the Broken that dwelt within the Exodar. After reconciliation had been reached with the Kurenai, she came to the Exodar, hoping that a people who endured so much, who finally learned to accept the Broken, could accept her.

I met her the day she arrived. She looked like any male human, young, naive, full of hope. She ran into me while she was staring at a map, trying to make sense of where she was. We started chatting, and eventually she asked for help. She wanted to learn more about a path she had heard of called Primal, and she thought a shaman could help.

At the time I was doubtful. I had never heard of Primals, but here was a youngster, lost, in a place she'd never seen before, looking for help. I told him he could stay with me while he searched for what he needed, and he came to dwell her in our little village.

I had talked to some of my troll friends within the Earthen Ring, and quickly learned what a Primal was. Tell me, dear, are you aware of them?"

"Only vaguely, uncle. Berserkers deeply connect to the natural world and animal spirits, right? Like druids…"

Turran nodded before continuing, "Fairly close. Like berserkers, they learn to control their rage. More than that though, they seek a connection to what they call the 'beast within'. It's a belief that every living soul is haunted by a beastly force, and those that can accept this can eventually ascend to a new level of existence, once more primal and deeply connected to the animal kingdom. From what I gather, it's not only full acceptance of the animal side, but embracing it entirely, becoming one with it. I've heard that most Primals are trolls, with a few orcs and tauren. Extremely rare they are, and they shun civilization. Many are friends with shaman, and that's why I think Isa'kor is here."

A'yora sat in thought for a while. "She thinks a shaman can help her connect to her 'inner animal'."

Turran nodded. "And I endeavor to make it worth her while. Though she must make the connection herself, I try to guide her down a good path. She connects well with the spirits as it is, and it is my hope that they will set her down the right path, so she does it the right way."

A'yora sat back and took it all in. She sat in silence, lost deep in thought. Turran sat quietly, unsure of what to do now. A'yora suddenly spoke, making Turran jump alittle from the sudden shattering of the crypt-like silence. "How'd she end up looking like a female?"

He pondered the question for a moment before answering. "There are many things she did. To me it seems her one sin is vanity, for she went to great lengths to look the way she does. She'd been doing something call corset training for a time, along with constant exercise, and eating mostly fruits and vegetables. After she met me, she ran into some Goblins at the Darkmoon Faire. She inquired on if their costume enchantments could be tweaked to become a body-transmogrification enchantment. After convincing them that it would be a worth piles of gold if they could get it to work, and agreeing to be a test subject at no charge, they enchanted her to look fully female. The test went off without a hitch, and from what are hear, the Goblins who invented the process are sitting on the promised piles of cash. I believe they sell it as 'race change service', and it appears to be quite the in thing with young adventurers. They can change you into any race you desire, for the right price."

A'yora giggled. "Figures those green runts would do it. They'd sell their own mothers for a single piece of gold."

Turran was amused as well. "Now, do not breathe a word of this conversation to _anyone."_

He was eying her like she just said she kissed a pit lord before continuing, "She's been through too much to be brought low by this secret. I won't see her suffer anymore injustice, if I can help it."

Again, A'yora was cross that her own flesh-and-blood would doubt her. "I swore, uncle. I would die, _will _die, before I utter a single word of this."

He nodded solemnly, with an attitude more fitting to an executioner, and said, "Now you know. I am sure you will keep your promise. Bah, enough of this then," He stood up, ushering his niece to the door, "I could use some sleep, and I'm sure you need a bath. Off with you now, dear."


	5. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the long absence. It's been a long year with a lot less free time then I wanted. I'm going back to school though, so I should have more time to write now that I'm dumping the ten hour a day job. Sorry if this chapter seems alittle rushed, Its been a long time since I wrote anything. Also, I'm thinking of doing a Steven Universe fanfic, I'm so addicted to that show. Any-hoodle, here's chapter four ^-^**

Chapter 4

Isa'kor was furious with herself. She lost control _again._ _I should be better than this_, she thought. _I know I'm better than this!_

Isa'kor was throwing everything she had into destroying a fallen log, every thunderous strike rending deep gashes into its rotting form. She was lost in thought, venting every ounce of her rage while angrily belittling herself. _What the hell were you thinking? Why the hell did you KISS her? What is wrong with you?!_

In all her rage, she failed to notice Vil'ta, who had snuck up early and was just sitting, unsure of how to approach his best (and truthfully only) friend. As Isa'kor's tantrum subsided into exhaustion, he finally made his presence know, clearing his throat will staying out of the range of her swords. "'Ey mon. What you be doing out 'ere on ya own?"

Startled, she looked up suddenly, then bared her teeth, snarling at him before speaking. "Go away. I don't want to talk, not now. Just….just leave me be." She said, before turning to leave.

"Talk ta me! I be ya best friend, mon. What be eatin ya? Don't be giving old Vil'ta da cold shoulda now!"

As Vil'ta hurried to catch up to his friend, Isa'kor slowed, suddenly lost in though. Sighing, she said, "I slipped, Vil'ta. I had no control. _None._ And then kissing her? After damn near ripping off her head?"

Isa'kor stopped suddenly, leaning against a tree and sliding down to a sitting position. "I don't know what to do, Vil'ta. I…I don't know, I guess I have a crush on her. Maybe. But after trying to kill her? What do I do now? How do I say 'I'm sorry for trying to turn you into a bloody corpse. Oh, and I think you look _gorgeous_.' How?"

Vil'ta sighed, and sat beside her. "Ya rage aside, mon, ya got ta be taking it slow, ya? Get ta know her! She be a warrior too. I'm sure she not be havin hard feelings, mon. Just don't worry how ya think ya feel about her. Besides, mon, I'd be more worried bout dat rage, ya? I ain't seen ya dat mad since I sliced ya face open."

Isa'kor touched the scar spanning her face gently, remembering that day long ago, when a drunken Vil'ta pulled a knife on her in Ratchet. After almost losing her nose to the troll, she beat him unconscious in a bloody rage, her knuckles bleeding and her eyes red with bloodlust. It took more than a few city guards to pull her off of him. Shaking her head and bringing herself back to the present, she finally spoke, "I don't know what came over me," her voice was almost a whisper as she continued, "Maybe I just wanted to impress her. Turran says she's been a warrior since Argus. Maybe…maybe I just wanted to prove that I can be just as good of a warrior. I don't know….I just wanted to _win_ so badly…"

"Ere's what ya do, mon. Say ya sorry. Show 'er ya be polite, ya? Dat you respect her. Don't be starting noting serious, just say ya sorry, den maybe ask her to go to da Exodar wit ya. Say ya got errands ta run for Turran. It be a whole day wit just her, and ya get to know her betta. If ya do got a crush on her, ya got to start wit being 'er friend. And maybe take about ya rage. A warrior dat old gotta know a few tricks to calm down, ya?"

Isa'kor pondered this for a moment, and then slowly nodded. "Sounds like a solid plan. Besides, she'll probably stick around for a while, and I don't want it to be awkward every time I see her."

"Den it's settled, mon! Now go wash up, you be stinking like a pig mon!"

Vil'ta guffawed loudly as Isa'kor took a swing at him. "Says the pot to the kettle, dog-breath."

Vil'ta helped her up, and as they headed back to the village, Isa'kor couldn't help but think, _well, here goes nothing. _


End file.
